


Fate's Design

by Val_Creative



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Humor, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Other, Parody, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hetalia Axis Powers/Tangled crossover. A girl with a frying pan seeks adventure...and a loud-mouth man joins her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

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There lived a girl (in this once upon story) with very long and abnormally blonde hair and she had a queer feeling that that wasn’t its true color…

 

 _Seventeen_ feet of this hair to be more precise…

 

…and a frying pan just waiting to be dented by the skulls of her enemies.

 

No one really knew much about her. In fact, not many knew she was alive. She had been kidnapped, you see. But she didn’t know this.

 

By a woman… _er_ , man… _er_ , well it doesn’t matter, let’s just call it a _her_ … Mother Russia kidnapped this girl when she was a tiny infant. Why, you ask?

 

Years and years before the girl was born, a single drop of sunlight fell from the sky to the Earth on a hillside and created a sunflower that glowed nearly as bright as the sun from day to evening—not only that but it could heal the sick, stop the aging process, and make one incredibly strong.

 

Mother Russia needed the power to control the servants in her household and keep a monopoly of fear over her rivals and allies alike…

 

…and remaining super young and hot for centuries didn’t hurt either.

 

But one day when Mother Russia returned to the hillside, and like all the other times upon returning, she expected to see the gently swaying sunflower beckoning to her. But it had been cut away by some palace guards. The news soon spread that the kingdom’s expecting queen was dangerously ill and required the magical flower to heal, to save both the baby and herself/himself/ _whatever_ … and within a few hours, was completely healed and in labor.

 

Cleverly disguised as an old hag (seeing how the aging process had quickly returned to her without the help of the sunflower… especially in the blue-veiny, clawing hands) with a faucet pipe as a cane, Mother Russia was able to attend the outside ceremony in the center of the grounds several days later.

 

At this time, the king and queen stepped out of the castle to greet their devoted and awestruck public (provided the guards watch over the crowds vigilantly), the king walked slowly behind the queen who marched ahead arrogantly, the king cradling the new princess lovingly in the crook of his left arm.

 

“What a _lovely_ child…” The disguised Mother Russia croaked as the king passed down the red, outdoor carpet-aisle.

 

Arthur hesitated at the voice, glancing over at her and then smiling warmly down at his daughter.

 

“Cheers.” He touching the back of his finger to the princess’s flabby, rosy cheek, delighting in how her emerald eyes— _much like his_ — lit up with unquestioned love.

 

“Isn’t she just? Do you have children, stranger?”

 

The hag exaggerated a sniff. Due to her lack of health now, the mucus build-up made for excellent show.

 

“...it was so long ago. _Poor_ Georgia… he was such a temperamental thing…” Cue exaggerated dry sobbing underneath the dusty hood of her cloak. It wasn’t a complete lie. Georgia _had_ left. Little bastard. Thought he would be his own nation. “Oh… your Majesty, what I would do to _hold_ him in my arms again…”

 

Arthur’s lips pursed with sympathy. Despite his ruthless pirate history, the king really was a big ole softy when it came to these matters of the heart. He came very close to losing two precious lives these past few days. But he was also no spring chicken. Only an imbecile would let a somewhat dodgy stranger hold the royal princess.

 

But the over-enthused and airheaded queen… the American… _would_ be that imbecile.

 

He loved Alfred. He really did.

 

Sometimes…okay, _often_ … he questioned his sanity when it came to that decision. But he endured him/her/ _whatever_ this long without going bonkers.

 

 “— _Your Excellency!_ ”

 

Mother Russia took her opportunity as a palace guard yelled in the distance for him, providing that perfect distraction him as she raised her faucet-pipe high and struck him hard across the face. Arthur staggered, halfway concentrated on the agony blooming and the feel of the wriggling bundle of pink blankets in his arms slip away as the hag stole her away. She laughed loudly at the sight of his blood dripping heavily from his broken nose, seeping and blending to match the carpet-aisle.

 

The screaming crowd behind her watching the scene took off running, fearing for their precious noses, and unfortunately, gave her a wide berth to escape with.

 

The not only profusely bleeding but now _enraged_ king unsheathed his trusted rapier from his hip and sprinted after her.

 

The smoke off of the ceremonial bonfires provided cover for the baby snatcher. “Find them!” Arthur shouted hoarsely at his guards, wiping the snot and remaining blood from under his nostrils, and tear-filled emerald eyes still scanned his surroundings for a glint of that faucet-pipe. Though he _knew_ in his heart…

 

The palace guards were not slackers by any means as they forced themselves through the chaos of the kingdom’s panicked citizens, but they returned empty-handed.

 

They circled around their ceremoniously dressed and generously blood-stained king, some still looking around in place clueless, some with intensely frustration expressions, some fearfully staring at a pale-faced Arthur gripping tightly at the handle of his rapier.

 

 **  
_o.o.o_   
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“Why was the king so sad, Mommy?”

 

“Because the princess went missing,” Mother Russia said to the five-year-old with an even tone, tangling her veined, clawing hands longingly into the long tendrils of silky, sunflower blonde. “And you know what happened? The entire palace blamed him for losing her. He should been a more careful father. That is why I can’t risk letting you wander around outside. I would be a _terrible_ mother if I let you leave this tower.”

 

“Am I a good daughter then, Mommy?”

 

She sneered openly at a pair of hopeful emerald eyes peeking over at her, reminding her, “As long as you keep Mother powerful and young, you have nothing to fear.” 

 

The little girl nodded obediently, patiently folding her hands into her lap.

 

“Should I sing for you, Mommy?”

 

“Of course, my _liubiEznyj_. Sing beautifully the lullaby Mother taught you.” The silky and sunflower blonde hair wrapped around Mother Russia’s claws began glowing as brightly as sunshine as the girl sang more sweetly at each word, her claws uncurling to pale, flawless fingers. “…oh…that’s my good girl.”

 

 **  
_o.o.o_   
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	2. Chapter 2

**_o.o.o_ **

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_**

A happy little honeybee flitted around a meadow just outside the middle of nowhere, brainless and perfectly content on remaining that way.

 

It appeared to have no specific business to attend to so it continued flying around aimlessly, enjoying its springtime journey through the nearby forest of oak and sweet-smelling canopy high above. A slight breeze glided it towards a clearing, and with the little buggy face, knocked itself unconscious into the hard and callous stones of a single tower. Why ever there was such a massive grey-stone tower doing out in the middle of nowhere neither the little bee nor I could explain fully. But it existed.

 

Scuttling up the side of this tower came a very bright green chameleon with the funniest design over its face—as if a pair of glasses had been pressed against its nostrils for too long—and with the tiniest little green knob of reptilian flesh (think of it like a _mole_ , dear reader) on the left side of its mouth.

 

It watched with unconcealed skepticism as the previous happy little honeybee flew face-first into the tower now became a current unconscious little honeybee and would have snickered at it unkindly felt the moment was opportune… _which it totally was_ … but the chameleon was, in truth, very hard to amuse.

 

So the chameleon continued its journey up the tower stones into the open window at the very top, and was momentarily surprised, scrambling for freedom in midair as a pair of soft, human hands clasped him up.

 

“You naughty boy, you…”

 

The very attractive, blonde girl attached to the hands said to him with a teasing voice, “And just where have you been without me?” It gave her a long-suffering look.

 

“One day, I am going to follow you to see what you are up to.” As she said this, the chameleon gave her a doubting glance over its chameleon shoulder.

 

Her emerald eyes narrowed with shameless determination. “No! Really! _I will_! Just you watch me, mister!”

 

It held the look until her expression fell.

 

“Alright, _fine_ …” She admitted, dropping him onto a silken pillow nearby, “…I wouldn’t. Not without Mother’s permission. _BUT_ —”

 

Her expression blossomed into that of a sunny, confident smile.

 

“Do you know what tomorrow is? Mother could not possibly refuse a request on my birthday. I will turn _eighteen_ after all. I will be a woman then—"

 

To interrupt, the large, golden bell strung up by the window swung back-and-forth.

 

The girl made a wild, excited gesture at her unimpressed companion and raced for the window, waving silently to the person below. With a similarly wild gesture, this girl threw down her heavy, seventeen feet of hair that curled just so at the bottom to provide a standing place for the person waiting to be pulled up. As if by… magic.

 

“Were you even trying?” Mother Russia’s tone was a harshly critical one as she brushed off her skirts off the excess dirt from the long trip.“It took you three seconds longer this time.”

 

“…sorry, Mother.”

 

At her daughter’s crestfallen outward show, Mother Russia began cackling prettily, pinching the girl’s face with her overly long and manicured fingernails in what one could assume was ‘friendly’. “I was merely jesting, _Elizabeta_. Must you be so fragile?” She sighed exaggeratingly, rubbing her temples and walking away to heave herself into one of the sofas not littered by drapings of multicolored embroidery and partly dried ceramic projects. “I’ve had such a trying day. You mustn’t make Mother worry over every little thing. Now come,” she motioned to a leveled stool in front of her, “Come and sing to your Mother, my _liubiEznyj_.”

 

“Mother, there was a favor I—”

 

“Favor later. Singing now.”

 

 “…Mother?”

 

“Hmm?” Mother Russia made an inquisitive noise with her throat.

 

“Tomorrow is my birthday.”

 

A flash of something _sinister_ crossed her strong features before her violet eyes calmed.

 

“What of it? Was there a special present you wanted?”

 

Elizabeta began, her dark brown eyebrows knitting, “As a matter of fact—“

 

 “Because you know we have very little money…” Mother Russia said dismissively.

 

“I understand, Mother.” The blonde girl tugged the other woman’s hands into hers.

 

“Every night on my birthday, there are these floating lights that appear in the sky. I’ve always wondered why they appeared. I would like to…” With those violet eyes gazing so expectantly at her, Elizabeta felt herself grow nervous. Something very unlike herself. She took in a deep breath.  “ _I would like to see_ —”

 

A crash of something that sounded exceptionally breakable downstairs startled them from the conversation.

 

Mother Russia made a great show of rolling her eyes, making a comment under her breath about the clumsiness of her incompetent male servants in her native tongue.

 

She rose to her feet, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “I love you, my fragile, _fragile_ Elizabeta. I am sure I will give you something substantial for your birthday this year. After all, you _are_ turning eighteen…”

 

“Yes, Mother…”

 

Elizabeta rose to her feet as well, staring at her back with defeat until the older woman returned the stare sarcastically, “…Was there something else?”

 

 “…Why am I never allowed to see the servants?”

 

The question hung between them like poison.

 

“You can’t trust them. They _will_ hurt you. You can only trust me,” Mother Russia never faltered as she explained affectionately, “People will always try to hurt you, My Elizabeta. Remember this.”

 

**_o.o.o_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes--  
> liubiEznyj: Russian [fem.] for ‘sweetheart’.
> 
> Casting--  
> Hungary: Rapunzel  
> Prussia: Flynn Rider  
> Russia: Mother Gothel  
> Austria: Pascal  
> Poland: Maximus  
> England: King  
> America: Queen  
> N. Italy & S. Italy: Stabbington Brothers  
> Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia: Mother “Russia’s” servants  
> A bunch of other countries may show up too…


End file.
